Corpus Pueri, Corpus Bestiae
by Beau Menteur
Summary: "Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him." -Proverbs 22:15. Girl-on-the-Island fic. Please see my profile for content/trigger warnings.
1. i The Earth Realm

Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him.

 _Proverbs 22:15_

* * *

 **i. The Earth Realm**

A young girl of fifteen, with a round face and pursed lips, crossed and uncrossed her ankles uncomfortably in the seat of a large, airborne Stratocruiser. Her hands raked across the front of the fastened lap belt, and though she'd been told to remain seated and strapped in, she found herself unable to stifle the urge to remove it. Her eyes flashed once to the stewardess who paid no mind to her direction, and with fleeting uncertainty she unbuckled the belt. It dangled at her side, clinking against the seat's metal base.

She angled her body to the daunting window on her right; even without standing, she could see the ocean view below. Squinting at the direct sunlight, she pressed her fingertips and then her nose to the glass, puffs of air from her nostrils creating tiny pillows of fog. Her eyes scanned the sea and she admired the blazoned reflection of the intense midday sun on the water.

Her body elevated only inches from her seat as she craned for a closer look, and her knees wobbled, unsteady. She wondered where they were currently—over the Atlantic, of course, but how far from London, how close to their destination? With little mindfulness, she pressed her lips and cheek to the class, relishing in the coolness against her face.

A stern hiss jerked her from her locus. "Laura," the voice crooned, and then once more, "Laura, stop that!" She quickly removed her face from the glass and fell back into the seat, leaving small streaks across the window. She turned to her counterpart. "What is it, now?"

A second girl, thin lipped and scowling, folded her hands in her lap and narrowed her brows. "What's gotten into you? The other girls are staring."

The round faced girl, called Laura, glanced at the two strangers who sat in seats adjacent to theirs, giggling amongst themselves and making a show of pointing. Laura stuck out her tongue at them, earning herself a prompt slap on the knuckles. "Ouch, Sarah!" She rubbed her fist pitiably. Sarah, who was nearing seventeen years old and sat with better posture than Laura, looked down at her lap. "Would you stop acting like a child? Fasten your belt," she hastened, "you're much too old to be having a fit."

"I am most certainly not having a fit—" Laura began to reason, but a harsh sideward glance stopped her mid-sentence. Begrudgingly, she refastened the lap belt. She propped her elbow onto the seat's armrest and laid her cheek in her palm, sighing.

"I wish you'd stop acting like my mother."

"Yes, well, your mother asked me to watch after you, so where does that leave us, Laura?"

"I think that leaves me loa-oa-oathing her."

Sarah gasped. "Laura, don't you dare say you hate your mother. How would you feel if you were to never see her again, having said that?" Laura did not respond, instead closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the cushioned chair. Sarah sighed and answered her own question with disdain. "Terrible, that's how you'd feel. Just awful."

* * *

Laura awoke from a short sleep she didn't quite remember falling into when the airplane was clouted with mild turbulence. She eased her eyes open and peeked to her left, where Sarah sat gripping her armrests with white knuckles and clenched teeth. Laura leaned over and lied to her, quietly, "Sarah, I have to use the bathroom."

The plane was jostled once more and Sarah visibly flinched. "So, ask the stewardess, then."

"Could you ask for me? Please?"

Sarah laughed humorlessly. "Oh, and here I thought you didn't want me acting like your mother. Honestly Laura, stop being such a child."

Despite her indignant tone, however, Sarah raised a shaking hand and ushered over a stewardess. The wiry woman wore a flustered expression and her fingers flitted like chickens' toes as she spoke. "I'm sorry," her shiny, brass name tag was pinned slightly aslant and read _Annette M._ , "we are simply flying over a rough patch and the turbulence should not last long, we ask that you bear with it and not worry too much."

Sarah smiled, the balls of her bony cheeks materializing out of thin skin. "That's not it at all, actually, my cousin was wondering if you might escort her to the bathroom."

The stewardess nodded apologetically and uttered a birdlike _ah_. "Yes, of course. You may follow me right this way, right this way." Laura unfastened her lap belt once more and stood, towing after the stewardess without directing a second glance at the tense Sarah.

They stepped through the aisle, past rows of rosy cheeks and neat curls and shipshape ironed skirts; they happened through a curtain divider and then past rows of scabby kneecaps and mussed hair and monogrammed school sweaters. The rear half of the plane was far rowdier than the front half—the girls' half—and the atmosphere felt pluckier, the air smelled fouler. Laura stood stationary for a split moment to watch one little boy jab his wet, spittle coated finger into the ear of another.

"Right this way, the bathroom is over here, dear," the stewardess called over the bustle, and Laura strode quickly to catch up. She all but tripped over the legs of a boy whose feet dangled artlessly into the aisle, and she did not acknowledge his _Eh? Sorry!_ as she scooted away. A sudden bout of turbulence sent her stumbling and she ungracefully grabbed the arm of a boy sitting down; her knee knocked the metal base of the seat and she mumbled an apology, massaging her pained limb.

Nearing the hindmost part of the Stratocruiser, where the sole bathroom was situated, _Annette M._ turned to Laura and held one claw-resembling, manicured finger into the air. "Here we are, here we are," the plane quaked again, and she latched onto the wall for support, "here we are! It's alright, dear, just call for me if you need anything."

The plane's bathroom, Laura noted upon entry, was well-maintained and small, so small that she could place both hands on either wall and her arms were not fully spanned.

As the vessel continued to shake, she leaned over the porcelain sink and gripped the sides, steadying herself and staring intently into the mirror before her. She made faces at her reflection—glared, bared her teeth, tried to touch her tongue to her chin and nose. _Stop acting like a child,_ that frigid, hostile cousin of hers would say. She pulled on her under eye sockets and her eyes became comically wide. _You're much too old to be having a fit._

Scrunching her face tightly, Laura reached into the pocket of her dress and wrapped her hand around a small glass bottle, first gently and then firmly as she continued to challenge herself in the mirror. She sucked in her cheeks, hollowing them, and raised her voice a pitch as she mimicked her cousin in a whisper tone; "'Your mother told me to take care of you because you're too much of a child to tie your own shoes or brush your own hair.'"

Laura relaxed her expression and giggled quietly, removing the glass bottle from her pocket and unscrewed the metal cap. As per usual, she took a short moment to stare at the label on the bottle, read it, and ignore it before pouring one, two, three, four small pills into her palm.

She shoved the tablets into her mouth and winced as the medicinal taste began to creep onto her tongue. There was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Dear, are you well in there?" a female voice asked.

"A few minutes, please," Laura responded, opening the faucet.

She let the tap water run over her hands for a moment before cupping her palms and catching water in them, raising her hands to her face. The room shook with turbulence, and she dropped the collected water in a stir, soaking the front of her blouse; she groaned in annoyance, and lowered her palms to gather more. This time, she lowered her face to meet her hands halfway.

However, a sudden, violent jolt of the vessel caused her entire body to fall rearward, colliding with the wall behind her. She gasped and the pills fell from her mouth, scattering across the bathroom floor.

Before she could register what had happened, another blow knocked her off her feet completely, and she found herself suspended in midair briefly before slamming her head against the low ceiling. She was hurdled downwards, the front of her body knocking against the foundation of the sink, before landing on her back. She was painfully aware of the sudden ache in her body but made herself to stand despite the consistent, vehement tremors of the plane.

Using the sink as a support, Laura reached for the door handle and missed, dreadfully dizzy from hitting her head. She groped for the handle and found it, forcing the door open and throwing herself out of the bathroom and into the open cabin.

She reached for the frantic stewardess who sidled against the wall.

"I…I hit my head," Laura said dazedly and with little inflection. The plane shook and she was slammed against the wall.

The stewardess bit her lip and looked towards the front half of the plane with uncertainty. "Stay here," she squawked, "I need to check on the front cabin." She, _Annette M._ , left sprinting down the aisle, her nametag slapping against her chest as she ran. Laura did as she was asked and remained still, crouching against the wall and losing what little nerve she had.

At this time, the boys in the back of the plane were less than cordial, all of them either shouting, screaming, quarreling, or crying. A few appeared to have suffered injuries of their own—a tall teenaged boy with square shoulders cradled his bleeding arm but tried not to fuss, a chubby-cheeked toddler wept and wept as he held his bumped forehead.

Sarah would have taken one look at these boys and clicked her snobbish tongue, perhaps chiding them for _acting like children_ rather than men in the face of danger. Laura almost chuckled at the humor of the situation when she was suddenly thrown forward and a voice several rows ahead crowed, "We're going down! We're going down!"

A second voice was less than thrilled as many of the others began to panic. "No we ain't, stupid! It's jus' some too-bear-lamps!" Between the violent shakes, Laura was unable to regain her footing and remained on her hands and knees in the aisle between two rows of seats.

"Don't call me stupid, stupid! Shit, the front of—"

"Buckle your lap belts, dumbasses!"

One masculine arm, and then a second, wrapped itself around Laura's waist from above and heaved her up, into a seat, onto a lap, where she was held so tightly she worried her ribs would crack.

The plane lost altitude very suddenly and very swiftly, and queues of oxygen masks dropped from compartments above them. The boy who held her hastily reached upwards with one hand, handing one mask to Laura and grabbing one for himself. She did not thank him, instead attaching the mask to her face and inhaling deeply.

Without warning, the entire front half of the plane broke away and a vacuum was generated. Laura, secured by the unrelentingly tight hold, watched in horror as the girls' cabin fell out of sight and dozens of unbelted little boys were sucked from the fragmented plane. She screamed into the mask and thrashed in lap of the boy, who held onto her more profusely.

Caps and shoes and bodies were launched into open air as the cabin began to shift and fall backwards, and Laura's vision dimmed as the sight of blue sky and clouds was cluttered with flying debris. Ahead of her, she saw one boy fold his hands in prayer before being spat from the plane, his oxygen mask wrapping around his neck as he flew.

Laura had been told before that when one was about to die, they had to review every event of their life in bursts and flashes, almost like watching the television in color. They had to bear witness to every sin they had ever committed, every misdeed, before facing final judgement. She trembled.

She wished she had swallowed those pills in time. Now, she was going to die and she suddenly feared death and dying.

She fainted.

* * *

The cabin assailed solid earth after less than a minute of vicious descending.

The metal body of the plane scraped against land with a deafening blast, a deep baritone which vibrated against the walls of the vessel and shook the insides. The force of the blow left a deep, elongated scar in the dirt which sizzled with friction and heat.

At the moment of impact, children and teenagers were ejected from the plane, thrown in all directions, some hitting trees and breaking their necks, others landing in soft underbrush. An unlucky few wore lap belts that simply worked too well, and rather than being ejected, their necks or skulls were crushed in the collision or they were perhaps hung upside down by the straps of their belts, and died in their seats, unnoticed.

As the many unconscious survivors outside the plane began to come-to, each massaging their scalps or their legs or their buttocks, they each experienced short waves of panic, hysteria, denial, and acceptance as the severity of their situation dawned upon them.

Some distance from the wreckage, a tall, older boy in a dark, garish uniform awoke and began searching for and assembling a group of boys who were dressed the same as he.

Just past the scar of the plane, among a jungle of bushes and vines, a rather round, large boy pushed himself to his feet and found his glasses, which had been knocked into the dirt, and placed them on the bridge of his nose.

Perhaps positioned closest to the debris, Laura roused when she felt a damp cloth pressed to her forehead, cool against the bump she had suffered in the plane's bathroom. She opened her eyes and, overwhelmed by the flood of sunlight even beneath the trees, moved her hands to shield her face from impending exposure. She brushed the cloth away.

A second pair of hands moved hers aside and replaced the cloth. "Hey now, don't do that," a voice said, stern yet gentle. Laura groaned—at the voice, at the pain throughout her body—and opened her eyes slowly, allowing herself to adjust to the light.

A fair haired boy was crouched over her, studying her condition, her injuries, and now, her expression. Taken aback by his commandeering actions, she flinched away, and he did the same. She raised a hand to her wound once more, and he moved towards her again and spoke with the same gentleness. "Don't touch it, it's not good. You really did yourself something awful, there." She noticed that he wore just a plain, grey shirt and a school sweater to his right was neatly torn.

She didn't notice the few tears which pooled and spilled at the corners of her eyes. "What happened?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Our plane crashed," the boy stated, standing and offering his hand to her diplomatically, "I'm not sure how it happened…the front cabin broke off and everything just came crashing down." He helped her to her feet and she made a slight effort to wipe the dirt from her palms onto her skirt. He cleared his throat. "Were you travelling with anyone? A brother?"

She balled her skirt into her fists. "My cousin, Sarah…I think she must've…"

The fair haired boy's eyes flashed as he realized that the girls' cabin had broken off and was missing now, probably sinking in the ocean. He noticed her change in expression as she came to the same realization, and her hands and voice began to shake. "She must've…"

A strained cry from some busy jungle undergrowth caused them to both whip their heads towards the sound.

"Hi!" the voice called, and then, "Hello! Hello, I'm stuck in these creeper things! Can you help me?"

Protruding from a veil of low leaves and branches was the rather large, round boy. His chubby hands and ankles were wrapped in vines from trying to force his way through the scrub, and his cheeks were swollen and reddened from overexertion. He wore only one shoe, the other possibly lost at sea or caught somewhere in the wreck. He visibly struggled, grunting, gasping, and the fair haired boy strode over to him. Laura followed, and together they peeled the vines from the stocky teenager's slippery limbs.

He stepped from the undergrowth, picking leaves from his scrappy hair and flicking a small thorn from a tattered patch in his windbreaker.

"Thank you," he wheezed, "I couldn't hardly move."

He stared first at Laura and then the fair haired boy, and plucked his spectacles from his plump nose, squinting at them. "Where is everyone? There was a pilot on the plane, you know."

"He was up front. It broke off, along with the girls' cabin."

"All them other kids, the boys, they must've got out. Yes? Right? I don't see nobody here, 'sides us."

At this, the fair haired boy shrugged and rotated his body, looking at their surroundings. "I think so. Must be." He brought one hand to his forehead and wiped away his sweat-soaked blonde bangs. He cleared his throat and continued. "No adults, though. Surely not the pilot, and every stewardess was up front, which…"

"Oh, did ya see it? When we was coming down, I looked through one of them windows. I saw the other part of the plane—there were flames coming out of it!" The fat boy took a deep breath, having excited himself, "Well, it's long gone now. Sunk like a stone, probably." Laura stopped listening to their conversation, digging her shoe into the sand. _Sarah…every single one of those girls, too…_

Lead by the two males as Laura trailed behind, noticeably shaken, the trio trudged toward an opening in the trees that emptied into a large, white beach. The two boys made idle chitchat, occasionally glancing at their silent female acquaintance over their shoulders.

"So, what are you called?"

The fair haired boy extended his hand for a shake. "Ralph."

"And how about you?"

Laura wrung her hands together. "Laura."

The fat boy smiled at her heartily, the chub in his cheeks making his eyes shrink and his nose wrinkle. As Ralph had done to him, he gave her his hand to shake, and she took it, nearly recoiling at his sweaty palm. She smiled politely, nonetheless.

"And you?" Ralph asked the fat boy, "What are you called?"

"Oh, see, I don't care what nobody calls me, just so long as it's not…" the fat boy paused, and mumbled the rest of his sentence, "…pr…g…"

"What was that?"

"Just…just so long as it's not Piggy," he admitted shamefully, and without thinking, Ralph stifled a laugh. Piggy pouted and looked away.

The deserted beach, while an ominous and overwhelming sight for any given castaway, was clean and spread on for miles and miles. From the crystalline blue shore, the trio could see the expanse of tropical jungle from which they had exited, decorated with flowered bushes and winding palm trees—and a plume of smoke, which emanated from the plane's scar. In the distance, a natural rock formation staggered over the earth and trees, jagged pink granite topped with a thin layer of scrub. Ralph pointed at it, drawing the attention of the others. "Look, there."

"It's grand," Laura breathed, "like a palace, or a castle." She blushed when she realized the babyish context of her words, but Ralph grinned.

Behind them, Piggy squealed. "Oh, and there! Look-ie at that!"

They turned and saw that, down the beach, a glittering blue lagoon nested in the sand. Ralph laughed—the sudden, carefree noise caused Laura and Piggy to jump—and he ran to the lagoon, dropping his sweater and stripping himself of his shirt as he did. He dove into the pool with abandon, and Laura, having just met the boy, was stunned that someone who acted so helpful and mature was suddenly throwing himself into bodies of water without a second though. His head bobbed atop the waves, and he flailed his arms. "Hey, you two!"

Unsure whether to laugh or be startled, she waved. "Hey, you two," again, "come on! Jump in, the water is just great!"

Piggy and Laura approached the lagoon, and Ralph hung off the sandy bank, watching them. Neither of the two reacted. "Aren't you going to swim?" Ralph asked, looking to one, and then the other. Laura shrugged, explaining, "I don't swim well. I've never really learned how." Beside her, Piggy nodded, and said, "I can't swim, I wasn't allowed, on account of my asthma—"

"Ass-mar?"

"Who taught you to swim, Ralph?"

Ralph leaned his head back, dangling the ends of his dripping fair hair in the water. "My father taught me, when I was five. He's in the Navy." He paused, closing his eyes, and added nonchalantly, "Maybe he'll be the one to rescue us, when he gets leave."

Under his breath, Piggy snorted. "Yeah, fat chance. Nobody knows we're here." Ralph ignored the remark.

Suddenly, Ralph's demeanor changed and he dove beneath the lagoon. Laura looked to Piggy, who was stone-faced now. Seconds later, Ralph reemerged with a cream colored object in his grasp. He studied it, silently, and then held it out to Laura; she took it and passed it to Piggy, disinterested.

Ralph marveled at his own finding. "Look at this thing. That's one rare stone, I'd say." Piggy, however, marveled even more so and held the thing with excitement, his eyes alight. "No, no, it's a shell! A conch shell, that's what! I seen one before, oh, they're expensive. Costs pounds and pounds and pounds," he rambled on and returned it to Ralph who overturned it in his hand and admired the spiraling shape. Piggy stopped to catch his breath and wiped his palms on his shorts before saying, "Try blowing into it, why don't ya, Ralph?" "Into it?" "Oh, yeah, it makes a noise like a horn!"

"Why don't you?" "Oh, my asthma—I don't got enough air."

So Ralph blew into the conch shell, which emitted no noise. He inhaled deeply and tried again, and then once more, and when his face finally flushed from lack of oxygen, he blew a final time and it sounded—not quite like a horn, but like a trumpet, and Piggy and Laura laughed.

Ralph grinned widely and blew once more, and the three teenagers erupted in giggles. He held the conch out to Laura, who held it shyly.

"Laura, why don't you try it? It's fun!"

She blew a series of blasts, like a rhythm, and delightedly handed the shell to Ralph in the bathing pool.

They watched as a boy, perhaps six or seven years old, crept from the jungle having heard the trumpet-like noise. His clothes were torn from the crash and the collar of his shirt appeared bloody; however, as he grew closer, the stain revealed itself as a mess of sticky, red fruit juices that also coated the boy's cheeks and chin. He squatted in front of Ralph and sucked his own thumb as voices began to collect in the jungle nearby.

"What's your name?" Piggy asked, bending down to meet his eye.

"Johnny."

Ralph continued to blow the conch until a herd of boys had gathered in the sand, many of them moving to sit or squat. Those who suffered minor injuries, such as scrapes or burns, moved to the water to wash their wounds. Laura, who had never seen such a large group of downtrodden individuals, pitied them before she realized that she had to pity herself, too.

A set of twins clambered onto the beach in near-perfect sync, and after introducing themselves as _Sam_ and _Eric_ , they showed off to the other boys, finishing each other's sentences and passing along jokes and rhymes.

Down the beach, a second group approached, lead by a tall boy with bright orange hair. They walked in rows of two and all wore long, gaudy black robes and silver badges; they strode speedily and businesslike down the beach. From a distance, they looked akin to large, moving chess pieces or a crew of very serious bats. The others whispered and cast each other nervous glances as they came near.

"Where's the man with the trumpet?" the apparent leader asked; he wore a gold badge rather than silver, and spoke haughtily. Ralph pulled himself from the lagoon and walked over to the redhead, carrying the conch dutifully. "There's no man with a trumpet, only me," he jabbed his thumb in the direction of Laura, "and her."

The robed leader surveyed the other boys, aiming a particularly nasty glance in the direction of Piggy. Ralph sensed his blatant unease. "Here," he said, "we're having a meeting. All of you, join us." The pack of serious bat boys and chess pieces began to move askew, leaving their rows and murmuring to each other as they moved to sit. Their leader shouted at them, displeased; "Choir! Stand still!"

The boys were obedient, albeit stubbornly so, and a sole quiet voice protested, "Merridew, can't we please?"

To the shock of onlookers, one of the choir members suddenly toppled over, falling on his front in the sand.

Merridew groaned, shooing away those who moved to help him.

"Alright," he spat, "sit, the lot of you. Don't help that Simon, he's always throwing a faint."

The choir sat. He turned to Ralph and the others. "Aren't there any adults?"

"No."

Merridew's pale eyes scanned the crowd of children and teenagers, stopping momentarily to stare at Laura. He quickly moved on, and addressing no one in particular stated, "Then we'll have to look after ourselves."

As she moved to sit, Laura brushed her hand against the side of her skirt and tensed; unnoticed by the others, she reached into her pocket and wrapped her hand around the small glass bottle there. Her heart raced. How this treasure had managed to remain in place, completely unscathed, after the accident was simply unbelievable—a blessing perhaps.

Distracting herself from the boys' meeting, she traced her index finger around the cool glass in her pocket, relieved.

For a moment, all was well.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Hello! For those of you still reading LoTF fan fiction who might remember my older crashed-and-burned works, it's me again! I strapped on my big girl shoes and I'm trying again (and again).

There's a bit of background info that ties into this already, and I'd figure I'd give a little run down. There's no spoilers, but if you'd prefer to not know any of this, it really won't take away from the story, either!

1\. **Stratocruiser:** the kids were travelling in a Boeing 377 Stratocruiser, an airplane model introduced in 1949 with two passenger decks and little reliability—neat! Kind of. It crashed.

2\. **Drug use:** yes, there is blatant drug use in this fic. The drug which Laura uses is codeine, which was a popular and frequently abused drug in the 40s-50s (and is still abused today). Until the late 1900s was sold over the counter (which is how Laura was able to attain it/become addicted at fifteen years old). As an opiate, it's both a painkiller and causes a high (comparable to that of heroin though not as intense) when misused. Since it may not have been obvious, I'll explain that Laura was high from codeine already at the beginning; she was behaving in a dazed or unnatural manner and fell asleep suddenly (drowsiness is a side effect of codeine). Other physical side effects are nausea, vomiting, and difficulty breathing; mental effects could include agitation, confusion, antagonism, hallucinations, or convulsions.

3\. **Chapter titles(!):** I love naming chapters! Though I don't want to give away much, each chapter will be named for each of the famous scholar Frederick W. H. Myers' "afterlife communications," or rather what Myers deemed as each stage of the afterlife. This one was _The Earth Realm_ , or understanding one's life and experiences on Earth after passing (accepting what was, per se). Personally, I have no religious beliefs of affiliations, but I find it really interesting and fitting with the book's themes! I'll explain a little about each stage at the end of each chapter.

4\. **Corpus Pueri, Corpus Bestiae:** _Body of the Child, Body of the Beast._ In Latin.

I'm on vacation from work this week, yay! But come Tuesday, I'm back to working full time, and at the end of August I'm going back to school full time. So, I'll update this when I can ("Don't you always say that?" Haha) and hopefully it'll be more often than not, but life happens! I'm really eager to get this in motion, though.

Love!

H.


	2. ii Purgatory

For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself.

 _Galatians 6:3_

* * *

 **ii. Purgatory**

"Then we'll have to look after ourselves."

Merridew uttered the phrase, aloof to the uneasiness of those who sat and squatted on the sandy beach.

Little Johnny, whose eyes welled with fat tears, fell onto his bottom in the sand. Beside him, Piggy spoke up. "That's why we called everyone here, see—so we can decide what to do 'n stuff. We was just learning names. This is Johnny, and there's them twins, Sam 'n Eric."

The twins in reference pointed at themselves.

"I'm Sam—"

"—and that makes me Eric!"

Ralph cut in. "And I'm Ralph, hello, and that's Laura."

Having heard her name, Laura glanced up from her lap and noticed the two dozen and some-odd pairs of eyes staring at her. She gave a slight wave and the assembly averted its gaze, satisfied. Tweaking an eyebrow, Merridew cleared his throat, his voice low and imposing.

"My name is Jack, but you lot call me Merridew, and that's all. I won't stand for any of that childishness." Ralph turned to him. No, he supposed he wouldn't argue with that.

From his post, Piggy went on. "Over there is Peter, and next to him, Georgie—or is it jus' George? Oh, sorry, I think I forgot—"

"You're talking too much," said Jack Merridew. "Shut up, Fatty."

The crowd laughed, with special attention paid by the choir in particular. As they quieted, Ralph spoke to Jack offhandedly.

"Oh, don't call him Fatty."

Jack Merridew leered. "What is he called, then?"

"Piggy," Ralph said thoughtlessly, and as the crowd laughed once more, this time roaring and slapping their shoulders and knees, he realized his mistake. "Wait," he piped, "I didn't mean…I didn't mean to say…" But, chants of _Piggy! Piggy!_ already echoed among the boys, and Piggy had turned a shade of bright red and looked away. Ralph cast an apologetic look in his direction, raising a hand as if offering sympathy, but the gesture went unnoticed. Inwardly, he chided himself.

The laughter eventually quieted, and despite the still faint giggles and snorting sounds among the group, the naming continued. Jack took the lead in introducing the choir himself.

"This is Maurice," he pointed towards a grinning, broad shouldered boy scantly shorter than he, "and this is Roger." Roger, in contrast to bright and toothy Maurice, sat furtively and broodingly as he picked his fingernails. He ignored the momentary bout of attention, and as it passed, his eyes shifted to the sole girl in the group who hadn't yet looked away.

When he caught her staring, casting her a jeering half-smile and narrowing his dark eyes, she looked away uncomfortably.

The other choir members were named off one by one; Harold, Bill, Robert, Henry, Lance, Theodore, and finally Simon, who had previously fainted in the sand and now draped himself lethargically against the trunk of a tree. The fair haired and fair mannered Ralph smiled and nodded at each, with a diplomacy that seemed foreign to the stoical Jack.

He, who took note of Ralph's already blooming popularity among the others, cleared his throat. "Now, we've got to decide what to do," the crowd exchanged subtle, anxious glances, "about being rescued."

"I want to go home!" a tenor voice quipped, and Jack cast a menacing glare towards the source—one of his own choir boys, Henry. Several others began to chitter in agreement.

"Shut up—quiet, now," Ralph said, and then lifting the conch declared, "Seems that we ought to appoint someone to be in charge, to decide things."

One of the youngest boys, a sandy-skinned toddler named Percival, lifted his head. "Like a king?" Another boy sitting to his right, Donald, nudged his shoulder forcefully. "No, dummy! Like a chief!"

"Yes, a chief," Ralph agreed. Jack folded his arms across his chest.

"I think that I ought to be chief," he said as Ralph's shoulders tensed, "because I'm in charge of the choir. I'm a fine leader."

Before Ralph could speak up in defense, Piggy raised a thick index finger into the air and spoke over the reactions of the other boys. "See, now, Ralph should be chief, 'cause he's made a big show of gettin' us all together."

Roger, who'd sat so covertly and kept to himself, eyed Jack, and then Ralph. "We should have a vote," he stated simply, and heads turned in considerable surprise.

"Yeah, a vote!"

"Vote?"

"That's the fairest way!"

Jack, although still and slack, wanted to protest—after all, it was him who had spoken up about any sort of rescue and had obvious experience as a leader. He sized up Ralph, who stood so squarely that it was nearly awkward.

Yes, Ralph was diplomatic, attractive, and posed some threat to his headship, he supposed. He eyed the group that called for the blonde boy with far too much enthusiasm, and he also considered the fat boy who showed signs of actual intelligence and communication of thought. Despite having gathered the crowd and taken names, however, Piggy presented no desire to stand before the other boys in such a permanent way.

There were others who he worried might volunteer, such as Maurice who stood with confidence before a crowd, or Roger, who simply enjoyed control and authority, or—Jack's face flushed with annoyance at the thought—that girl.

What was her name?

She sat like a petrified rat among the ragtag males, staring blankly at the faraway horizon and chewing on her bottom lip. She appeared overcome with stress already, and Jack wondered if she was a smart girl, or a pretty girl.

In his hometown, pretty girls took to lounging at parlors or soda shops, gossiping and wearing the latest hairstyles and fashions. He'd taken quite a few on dates. He liked pretty girls because they never talked or whined too much. It was a pain, however, when they'd tell everyone he was their _beau._

Smart girls, on the other hand, had only recently began floundering themselves into local elections and talking of suffrage and intersectionality.

His curiosity peaked when he watched her raise a hand to her lips and swallow something with discomfort, before replacing her hand in her pocket. Was she hiding food?

"Who wants Jack to be chief?"

Jack clenched his fists, prepared to correct the trifling Ralph for the usage of his first name, but was distracted by the indignant expressions worn by the choir as they each raised their hands. He was piqued by their obvious desire to disobey, but was even more so bothered by the lack of hands raised elsewhere. His shoulders drooped drearily.

Ralph resisted an ordinate smile at the lack of fanfare, and side eyed his bleak rival. He beamed at the rest of the boys, and they all appeared mesmerized at the sight of his straight, white grin. "Who wants me to be chief?"

A wave of hands crashed against the sky, leaving the bemused, appreciative choir in its wake. Piggy, who thrust his chubby arm into the air and proudly displayed a damp armpit, smirked at Jack and earned a sneer in response. Laura continued to sit unresponsive, unnoticed.

Ralph, obviously pleased with himself, marveled at the gratitude—so comparable to an organized salute—as if impressing a group of grammar school boys was the most remarkable thing he'd ever done; surely, it was not. When he placed his hands on his hips and grandly said, "Well, I'll be chief then," an applause broke out, even among the choir.

Ralph looked to Jack with thinly veiled self-righteousness.

"You can be in charge of the choir, of course."

"Well, obviously."

Maurice and Bill looked at each other and quietly groaned.

Jack squinted. "And what do you suppose I do with them," his words were malicious, "chief?"

"What do you want them to be?"

"Hunters."

The spiteful intensity suddenly dissipated when Ralph's haughty expression faltered to one of wistfulness. He smiled at Jack, shyly and genuinely, and nodded. "Hunters? Yes, I think that's a good idea." This softened the stone-faced redhead, who in turn addressed the choir. "Alright, remove your togs."

Relieved, the choir stood—they stripped themselves of their saltwater soaked cloaks and one by one, the garments dropped to the sand. Eventually, Jack did the same, draping his tog across his arm and then letting go, already neglectful to the status of the golden pin. He peeled off his sticky white dress shirt and stood upright in his undershirt, hands on his hips.

He glanced at Laura, half-expecting her to be staring in his direction; she remained still, now with her eyes closed and her shoulders slack.

"Listen, everybody," Ralph smiled and held the conch at waist-level, "if this isn't an island—though, I think it is—we'll have a much better chance of being rescued soon. But, if everyone can stay here and not fuss while a few of us figure things out, then we can get things taken care of. Understood?"

Several of the boys nodded in unanimity.

"Alright. So I'll go, and Jack, and…"

Many of the younger children smiled eagerly, and the older boys straightened their posture. Roger stopped picking at his fingernails for just a moment to cast Jack a wayward smirk.

"…and Simon, you can come too."

As the others turned to stare at Simon, some snickering or making offhanded comments, he stood much more confidently and enthusiastically than before. He maneuvered his lanky frame through the throngs of boys and swept his long, black bangs from his sweaty forehead.

"Okay, I will." He spoke quietly, with the slightest inflection that showed he was at least somewhat interested in the expedition.

Piggy shifted and pulled at the collar of his shirt. "I'll come too." Ralph turned to him and raised his a hands apologetically.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just don't think that's a good idea. Three is enough, after all—"

Jack finished his thought with forthright honesty. "We don't need you. And, we don't want you."

Piggy huffed, flaring his round nostrils. "I was with Ralph when he found the conch, see, _and_ when he found you all. I was with him before you so I should get to explore." Despite his wearied state, he willed himself to stand and then caught his breath. Ralph shrugged, accepting his reasoning, but Jack rolled his eyes.

"If you think that's fair, then we should bring her along too," he remarked, pointing to the presumably sleeping Laura. Ralph shrugged, not disagreeing.

He called to her. "Laura, hey!" She roused from her light slumber and looked to the four standing boys, eyes heavy. Ralph reintroduced the idea. "Laura, wouldn't you like to come exploring with us?"

"I…no, I'm a bit tired so I think I'll stay…"

"Come on now, a short walk should wake you right up. And, I'd like for you to come."

As the other boys were now engaged in their own conversations, his attempt at flattery went unnoticed to all except Piggy, Simon, and Jack; the latter scoffed as Laura's cheeks slightly reddened, though he supposed it very well could have been due to the tropical heat. He watched Ralph swoop over and extend a hand, helping her to stand before she could properly accept his offer.

Jack felt an uncharacteristic flare of jealousy as she quietly thanked him; it had, after all, been his idea to invite her.

* * *

Some distance down the beach, the three fit boys—Jack, Ralph, and even little Simon—had fallen into step.

Despite the earlier tension caused by their election, Jack and Ralph got along like friends, sharing jokes and details about their lives before their departure from England. They paid little mind to their third companion, who looked at the ground as they spoke and kept a hand across his brow. Occasionally, the choir head would remark that _Simon had better not throw another faint,_ but the younger boy remained resilient.

Ralph glanced over his shoulder at the weather-beaten Piggy and the reluctant Laura; the two walked a little slower and stayed several meters behind the others. They appeared to be immersed in conversations of their own—or rather, Piggy spoke zealously to Laura and she only half-listened. Watching them, Ralph cleared his throat.

"You guys are keeping up, yeah? Laura, you're alright?"

Laura nodded and Ralph smiled, then refocusing on Jack who was describing his favorite place to gamble and drink without being caught.

Piggy groaned. "See, see here what I mean?" he said quietly, "he acts like I ain't here. He acts like he ain't seeing me." Laura cocked her head, gazing upward at a particularly tall tree along the edge of the jungle. She inhaled deeply, eyes unmoving from the skyline. "Yes, I see what you mean."

Balling his fists at his side, Piggy snorted wet phlegm and pursed his lips. "And…and he told 'em. Even after all I said, about not wantin' to be called…" He wiped at his cheeks, unsure whether he was crying or sweating profusely. He spoke, quieter than before. "I said not to tell, and he still said it to 'em, straight out…"

He, who couldn't see clearly behind his tears, and Laura, who wasn't watching where she was stepping, bumped into the backs of the three, now stationary, boys.

Jack turned in annoyance, prepared to yell or even threaten, but Ralph smiled uneasily at the red-faced Piggy.

"I just remembered, Piggy," he said tactlessly, and the boy he addressed dropped his head in shame, "that we haven't yet recorded everyone's names. Could you return to the others and do that? It's your job and you're quite good at it, after all."

"But—" Piggy began to argue, but after looking between the scowling face of Jack and the grimacing one of Ralph, he sighed. He turned away. He wasn't convinced of his importance in recording names, but more so felt demoralized and unwilling to subject himself to further humiliation.

He took a few steps in the direction they'd came and then hesitated to wait for Laura. He hoped that she'd join him so he could continue his emotional upheaval amongst company. However, he looked over his shoulder and realized that not only was she still staring into open air, but Ralph had even taken her by the arm and was now pulling her along.

He grumbled. She probably wouldn't even notice he had gone.

* * *

The sand was firm and decorated with seashells, weeds, and smooth stones which beat the bottoms of the teenagers' feet as they stepped. The afternoon sun glistened against the low tide, reminiscent of glamorous photos and paintings they might've seen at school.

"I think this is quite like exploring," Jack mused, "We're explorers now."

This was perhaps the most childlike thing Ralph had heard Jack say since they had left on their walk. Ralph smiled. His redheaded counterpart did seem to have a softer side, after all. He was entirely different without the black robes.

"We'll go as far as the end of the island."

They reached what appeared to be the end of the island not soon after; a distinct cliff which jutted sharply from the land. Along the edge of the beach were more, smaller cliffs, each one more jagged and ominous than the last. The great stones' pink surfaces appeared dewy against the sun.

Jack whistled. "We have to climb it, now. See where it goes."

Simon, whose eyes had widened at the ornate pink cliffs, finally spoke. "Climb the rocks? That seems dangerous…"

"No, stupid. We'll climb through here, where the forest meets the rock, and it should take us to the top."

Wordlessly, Jack led the group through an opening in the wiry brush, pushing stray branches and vines from his path as he followed the incline of the terrain. Ralph still held Laura's arm, nearly dragging her along. He amused himself watching her study her surroundings, eyes wide and bewildered as if she were seeing things more spectacular than sand and trees.

He wondered what she could be thinking. He decided that she was still in shock from the plane crash.

Ahead of them, Jack stopped and placed his large hand onto the forest floor. He glided it along some indents in the earth.

"What made this track?" he muttered, more to himself than to Ralph who still answered breathlessly, "Men, perhaps."

Jack shook his head.

"Animals?"

There was silence among the teenagers as Jack ran his gangly fingers along the dirt once more, raking it and burying it under his fingernails. Wordlessly, Ralph knelt by his side and studied the disturbed earth; after several seconds, his breathing and Jack's fell into sync. Their eyes met, and whilst Jack's brow furrowed with an air of dominance, Ralph broke their mutual glower and looked to Laura, and then to Simon, and then stared intently into the darkness of the forest ahead.

Ralph stood and brushed the filth from his knees. Jack, realizing he was still flagrantly watching the other boy, let his menacing expression fall.

As the assembly ventured further into the trees and bush, Ralph found difficulty not in navigating the dense forest foliage, but in pulling the less-than enthusiastic Laura along as he did. She was not immovable, though clearly disinterested or perhaps distracted, and Ralph felt himself frequently halted when the girl would stumble on a root or get tangled in a creeping vine.

Ahead of them, Jack cursed to himself. As the surrogate trailblazer, he was growing increasingly covered in scratches and scathes from thorns and thick vines.

Over his shoulder, he eyed the dimwitted girl who had done nothing besides slow their expedition so far. The lot of them were hot, exhausted, and short of breath as they ascended the mountain, but none of the boys—not even Simon—allowed themselves to be hindered by this. She, however, was akin to a walking stick which had to be pulled from the mud time and time again.

He considered that her lack of vivacity wasn't due to her constitution, but due to the boy who held her arm as she paddled along. Truly, and for no obvious reason, Ralph had taken a quiet liking to this docile girl; Jack supposed it was possible that she returned his senseless affections and was distracted by his doting personality.

Inwardly, Jack scoffed. What was so special about Ralph, about his fondness of her? Surely, he could fawn over this lackluster lass all the same—and _he_ wouldn't let his flirtation affect his exploring.

"Laura," he said as he stopped and turned to face the others, "why don't you walk beside me, instead?"

He surprised himself, at his question rather than demand and at his use of her given name. He surprised the others as well, and Ralph tightened his hold on Laura's thin arm. "We're quite alright, Jack. Laura is fine with me."

"Oh, but you'd have an easier time getting along without having to drag her through the bushes, Ralph. I'm sure she doesn't like it."

Ralph looked to the unperturbed girl. "Laura? It's up to you."

Laura shrugged. Truthfully, she didn't care enough to mind either way. She did not wish to be traversing the mountain with them in the first place.

At her lack of rebuttal, Jack grinned and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her closer to his side. Initially hesitant, Ralph released her arm and sighed. His mood and ego strangely uplifted, Jack began to talk aloud.

"I bet nobody's been here before," he remarked, and although he no longer held Laura's hand he still stood uncomfortably close, "really, this whole land has never seen another human, I think. We must've been the first to land here, surely. This is real exploring."

Admiring the view of the trees against the orange sky, Jack raked his hand through his unkempt hair. "This is our land, because we're the first to stake our claim. That's how the real explorers do it."

Behind him, Ralph cast Simon an almost annoyed glance. The younger boy rolled his eyes and the two snickered to themselves.

They continued at a steady pace for nearly five minutes. Eventually, Jack stopped once more when Laura scraped her shin against a particularly thick bit of undergrowth and gasped almost silently. He, who would have typically groaned at the nuisance or made a snide comment, actually attempted to hide that he regretted inviting her. Instead, he cleared his throat. "Laura, do you want me to walk you back to the beach?"

Ralph, arms folded over his chest, answered before she could. "Jack, we've got to get on. There's no time to walk her all the way back."

At this defiance, Jack's freckled cheeks reddened. "You're the one who forced her along with us. She's obviously tired."

"Enough, Jack. I was voted chief."

Ralph had approached him now, standing toe-to-toe with the redheaded boy. Although the taller of the two, Jack found himself perversely intimidated by the so-called chief's flared nostrils and clenched jaw. Why did something trivial anger him so?

His mouth dry, Jack averted his gaze to Laura. "Fine," he hissed, "Laura, get on my back."

Laura questioned the request—"Your _back_?"—as did Ralph, albeit quieter and with even more apprehension—" _Your_ back, Merridew?"—and Jack simply nodded, stern. He turned and crouched, obviously flexing what lean muscle he had while doing so. Ralph rolled his eyes and resisted making a verbal remark.

He nearly swore when Laura did get on the older boy's back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders with an air of self-consciousness and allowing herself to be lifted into the air.

Turning, Jack coyly chuckled at Ralph's scowl.

"Why the long face, Ralph?" he chided, hiking Laura up his back to keep her from slipping down, "You said it yourself, we've got to get on."

They traversed the terrain, scoping out paths through the blend of pink, green, and brown landscape and ducking under sickly creepers in the trees. Through the wood, which was beginning to thin as they grew nearer to the mountaintop, they could see the ocean; the blue of the sea had turned orange and then a deep purple, and each individual silently realized that evening had become nighttime while their eyes adjusted to the dark.

Ralph wondered how many hours had passed since their arrival to the island. Certainly, someone was looking for them by now.

Simon wondered if nights on the island would always be this seemly and peaceful.

Their ascent was rather undemanding from thereon, the slope of the landscape easing into flat land and the thick underbrush at their feet retreating into long, soft grass.

Past a final mass of shrubs, they lead themselves into a large, lavish field. Bright wildflowers hampered the grasses there, which had never made human contact, and a few fat rocks were poised near the center of the field.

Wordlessly, Jack edged Laura from his back and when she stood on her own, he and Ralph each sprinted, surging ahead of the others as they raced. The boys hooted and cursed at one another. Despite their competition, they both finished and fell out of step at the same time, panting, amid the fat rocks.

Jokingly, Jack threw a fist at Ralph, who flinched and pretended to kick the former in retaliation. They laughed as friends would, but made eye contact which relayed the silent heat of hostility they shared. Their chuckles silenced, they inhaled and exhaled deeply while they caught their breath.

The friendly mood faltered as quickly as it had come. Ralph raised the corner of his mouth in a smirk and Jack pulled back his upper lip in a sneer.

Simon and Laura approached the duo leisurely, themselves giggling at the spirited display. Breaking the inimical glower, Ralph turned his head from Jack to greet Simon and Laura; he was relieved to see the recently depressive girl finally smiling and showing emotion. He, of course, credited himself for this.

Triumphantly, Ralph turned and hoisted himself atop one of the rocks. He stood proudly above the others and began to survey the island and ocean from his vantage point.

"What d'ya see, Ralph?" asked the quiet Simon as Jack also climbed onto the rock for a better view.

"It's an island," Ralph confirmed the group's suspicions, "there's the beach, and the jungle, obviously—"

His eyes scanned the pink, green, and brown terrains that painted the island. He could see the grand, fortress-like face of the cliff he'd spied with Laura and Piggy earlier. From this position, he could also see the underwater formation which coiled around it, and he pointed. Everyone turned their heads to follow.

"That's a reef, there. A coral reef," he chimed.

As they observed, Jack pointed towards a different section of the beach and jungle. "And that's where we landed," he said, almost solemnly. The others redirected their attention. Surely enough, there lied an ugly welt among the trees and shrub, carved out of the jungle as if someone had simply reached in and taken a handful of land. There was a scant amount of leftover debris which had broken free from the cabin and Ralph momentarily considered suggesting that they go look for survivors from the wreck—he eventually noticed that the scar of the plane ran through the edge of the jungle and across the beach. The cabin had confronted the sea, and probably had been dragged away with the tide hours before.

"There aren't any inhabitants." Ralph made this statement matter-of-factly, and Jack was quick to respond with, "So this belongs to us, then. All of it."

Ralph thought for a moment, the salty breeze hitting his face and tousling his blonde hair. "Yes," he was suddenly very focused, "all ours."

* * *

The teenagers retreated from their vantage point when Simon made mention of his hunger and reminded everyone else of their own.

They made their way down a rocky slope which Ralph had deemed the quickest way down, and then through some thick evergreen bushes, decorated with bulbs. There, they heard a very defining noise.

A distinctive squeal, accompanied by the sound of heavy hooves, sent the two older boys into a frenzy. They rushed towards the noise, and caught among some especially thick vines they discovered a piglet. It squeaked and shrieked, thrashing about as it tried to free itself in the face of new predators.

Jack smiled wider than anyone had seen before. This is what he had hoped for. This was an animal, a food source; this would also be his claim to leadership and glory.

Adrenaline teeming, Jack unsheathed a knife and held it above the animal, jerking nearer to it. He eyed the pig's splotchy dark skin, covered with thin black hairs that were standing on-end. Its eyes showed fear and it shrieked louder and sharper. Then, standing just over the pig, he paused. His smile fell. His movements stuttered and he paled, and while he was visibly shaken by the act he'd have to commit next, the pig managed to free itself.

His blade still primed to attack, he watched the animal scurry into the forest, speechless.

In his peripheral vision he saw Ralph, also white and shocked, and he lowered the weapon. Before Ralph could question or berate him, Jack stammered, "I was just trying to figure out how to do it, is all. Trying to figure out how to stab him."

Ralph was more frustrated than sympathetic. "You should stick a pig."

"No, you should drain the blood first, or else you can't eat the meat," reasoned Jack, who suddenly felt very self-conscious in Ralph's exasperation.

"Why didn't you—"

"I was going to."

Truthfully, Jack both knew and didn't know why he hadn't just struck. It was the looming responsibility of slicing into living flesh and ending the animal's life—for some reason, this haunted Jack in ways the concept had not before.

His knuckles went white around the hilt of the knife. He felt humiliated. "Next time, I won't fuck up. Okay?"

In a brute display of anger and strength, he slammed the knife into the truth of the tree. Ralph flinched where he stood, and Laura gasped from where she and Simon watched the scene from a few meters behind. He made eye contact with each individual, as if daring them to comment or controvert him.

"Next time I won't show any mercy."

He tore the knife from the wood, sheathing it once more. As Jack pivoted on his heel and strode back through the forest as if he hadn't embarrassed himself, Ralph wondered if that was meant as a promise or as a threat.

* * *

The expedition returned to the beach and met with an audience that had been eagerly awaiting them.

In his rightful place, Ralph said upon a fallen tree at the head of the group and faced them, addressing them after he blew into the conch for silence. They all watched intently, pink faced from the sun and eager for news.

"Well," he sighed and ran his hand through his hair in such a casual manner that Jack wanted to mock him, "this is an island and we are alone. From the top, we could see no houses, no boats, no people. I regret to have to tell everyone this, because we all hoped for immediate rescue but we will have to wait because this place is uninhabited. I don't want anyone to worry, because, well, even without adults we do have each other and I promise that—"

Jack interrupted him, standing. "We'll need a group of you boys to be hunters. And I'll still lead you."

There was a murmur amongst the crowd and Ralph scowled at Jack. "Yes, thank you Jack. As I was going to say, there are pigs on the island and we must hunt them."

The murmur suddenly erupted into thunderous commentary and conversation about pigs and hunting. Who would be the hunters? How would they hunt? How were the pigs surviving here?

Ralph attempted to silence the boys once more, but they only ebbed when Jack revealed his large knife, holding it high above the crowd as they looked on in both fear and awe. He stabbed it into a tree as he had before, although this time much less passionately.

Now, Ralph hastened to assert his chiefship. "Hey, we can't have everyone talking at once. Raise your hands, you schoolboys. Show some goddamn manners." He looked down at the pearly conch shell in his hands, and held it up like a trophy. "Whoever is talking gets to hold this, and no one else can interrupt him," he narrowed his eyes, "except me."

Still, the power struggle ensued as Jack nearly tore the shell from Ralph's hands. "Whoever breaks the rules can answer to me!" he shouted, and this truly seemed to strike fear into the young boys among the crowd. Ralph took the shell back, and, spotting Piggy sitting patiently with his hand raised, handed it off once more.

Piggy started quietly. "N'body knows we're here, and…" he pushed his spectacles up his round nose, "…and…but…but, they'll know it when we don't get to wherever we was goin', so they'll be lookin' for us, but…but we might be here for a long time."

Ralph was steadfast in exploiting his ability to interrupt. "But this is a good island! Jack and me, and Laura and Simon—we climbed to the top and we'll be just fine here, for a long time." Many of the young boys grew excited, but the older boys appeared unconvinced. Ralph tried to lift their spirits. "We'll have everything we need—food, water—and we can have a good time here!"

A little boy, who was unenthused and had gone unnoticed before then, stood and dawdled over to Piggy and reached tearfully for the conch. When he received it, he held it like a stuffed bear and glanced anxiously to Jack, and then to Ralph. When he did not immediately speak, Ralph encouraged him, "Come on now," and Jack spat, "Speak up, like a man!"

Visibly shaken, the boy then looked to Piggy, who knelt and allowed the boy to whisper in his ear. "He's wantin' to know what you'll be doin' about the snake-thing," Piggy relayed.

The teenagers among the group, Ralph included, laughed and the little boy burst into a fit of tears and wails. "Tell us about the snake," Ralph insisted, and the little crying boy whispered to Piggy once more.

"It was a beastie, he says. A snake beastie, a real big one."

"Where?"

"The woods."

Amongst more laughter and ridicules, it was established that the so-called beastie hung from the trees and despite the older boys insisting that no such thing existed, it had clearly struck fear into the young one. He shook where he stood, asking if the beastie would revisit.

His pleads only subsided when Jack reassured him that if there was a beastie, they'd hunt it and kill it so everyone needn't worry.

"I'll kill the beastie! I'll bash its fucking head and I'll wear its pelt," he declared.

The assembly fell silent, but was unbearably tense and a little fearful now; Ralph wondered if the beastie was as true of a threat as Jack was.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

It's been one month shy of a year since I wrote the first chapter for this. I'm sorry. Life is one hell of a drug. But, I've tried to remain as consistent as possible! I only have a few short notes for this chapter.

1. **Purgatory:** the title and theme for this chapter, as based on Frederick W. H. Myers' "afterlife communications," is Purgatory (or, the second stage of death). In many religious affiliations, it is believed that following ones' death, they experience a brief period of neither Heaven nor Hell. Myers believed this place to be where one wanders aimlessly, reflecting on their actions until they make their decision to embrace God. I believe this stage is applicable to the kids' first time exploring the island because they are faced with their first decisions and are deciding what fates they are willing to embrace. However, they are also null in their action (i.e. Jack refraining from killing the pig) and aren't making major steps towards rescue or stability.

2\. **Bible verses:** One year ago (lol), I decided that I didn't want to put a bible verse at the beginning of each chapter because a) I am not religious, I'm an atheist, and I only know the bible from an objective point through studying it in literature classes, and b) I was worried about having to find verses which fit as graciously as the first did. Now, however, I am saying fuck it because when you want it to work, you make it work, and I do think that the bible verses I plan to use fit so beautifully with each chapter. I'll try to explain them in the notes as I do with the chapter titles. This chapter's verse is fairly self explanatory; it is heavily applicable to Ralph and Jack's struggle to feel truly fitting as the sole leader, and Jack's predicament with not being able to kill the pig despite viewing himself as a hunter/killer.

I'll update as soon as possible (note that I am not just saying soon, therefore distancing myself from any and all obligation).

Love!

H.


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